


The Lovers

by lonebeauty



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Existentialism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Intimacy, Loneliness, Love Triangles, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, Romance, Secret Relationship, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonebeauty/pseuds/lonebeauty
Summary: A sad and broken Tifa Lockhart recuperates at Healen Lodge, where she meets an unlikely confidant.Rufus Shinra x Tifa Lockhart
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Rufus Shinra
Comments: 43
Kudos: 78





	1. Whiskey

It was inadvertent, the love affair with his greatest adversary. Rufus had only an inkling of how it all began:through whiskey, the smokescreen of a cigar, and the allure of ruby red eyes which lead him to dark alleyways in the middle of the night.

He waited stealthily behind Seventh Heaven, where Tifa warned him to stand as still as possible.“Cloud’s a light sleeper,”she whispered over the phone, “Don’t wake him.Things won’t be pretty if you do.”The moonlight casted large shadows for him to hide in, and he took care to disguise himself in a dark suit with a black overcoat; a choice from his wardrobe which had never seen the light of day.

She fled from her window in an ivory nightgown, fled into his arms as though he was her last saving grace. Her eyes brimmed with watery, crystalline tears.“You came.”She said with a hint of disbelief, and pressed her fingers deep into the folds of his shirt, tightly, possessively, as if she had lost him once and swore she would never again.

He placed his hand on her cheek and nodded silently so as to preserve the secret of their meeting, then lead her to a further, darker alley.The air in the night was thick and the skyscrapers sealed out all semblance of life;Rufus could see nothing in the pitch-black darkness, could feel only the warmth of her hand in his, her footsteps trailing behind him in the mounds of industrial waste, her nightgown snagging in a manner of all directions.

At last, they reached the end of the alley, a dead end out of sight from prying eyes.“I’ve waited for too long,”he said, rasping into her ear, his breath tickling the nape of her neck.His belt unraveled and fell to the pavement, her legs wrapped around him as he pushed her up against the concrete.She savored his touch, pulling him by the necktie towards her.

The night that ensued was one of many. The lovers met to fulfill a mutual void within each other, and miracles were delivered. Yet, when the sun rose and threatened to illuminate their secret, they were forced to part, and emptiness crept back into their lives. “You’ll come again, won’t you?” Tifa asked, tugging at his sleeve with lonesome eyes.  
“Yes.” He promised, and brushed a tuft of hair out of her face to make room for a parting kiss.

****

It was never meant to be this way.They were enemies, after all — he had once taken _everything_ from her without so much as batting an eye.She meant nothing to him, like a speck of dust he had inhaled unknowingly, or a movie he saw in passing long ago and couldn’t remember the details of.She meant nothing to him, and yet, she would become his silver lining. 

****

Rufus laid in bed at Healen Lodge awaiting his medication, a routine he had taken to keep the aftereffects of Geostigma at bay.  The spread of the virus had been halted in the healing rain, but long term symptoms continued to plague him.Sometimes it was a loss of breath, sometimes hallucinations somnambulistic in nature.

He was not prepared for the attack that would come forth that evening;the lodge was short-staffed, the Turks dispatched on an emergency mission in Junon.Rufus was alone with his symptoms, which overtook him and had him gasping for air at the foot of his bed. 

He panted and heaved, making his way over to the medicine cabinet. There was no other choice; he had to administer the injection himself or else he would suffocate. As he walked towards the kitchen counter, he stumbled over himself and fell to the ground, feverish. He tried to stand himself upright, but his legs were like iron weights anchoring him to the floor.

Some time passed. Rufus did not know how long. Tears streamed down his face; he was once the most powerful man on the planet, now reduced to a paper weight. A bout of surrender overcame him, and he accepted his fate as karma for his many sins. It had been a long time coming, hadn’t it?His demise. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness, suspended between reality and nightmare. A hallucination of his father, the late President Shinra, appeared before him, beating him within an inch of his life as he often did when he was still alive. The blows from the old man’s fists landing just beneath his ribcage caused Rufus to let out a grunt of pain, and he quivered tremulously while covered in sweat.

“Hey. Are you okay in there?” From the entrance of the lodge an inquisitive, unfamiliar voice called out to him. “I’m coming in.” 

The door squeaked open and footsteps approached.

****

Rufus woke up in bed with an IV attached to his arm. The nurse must have shown up, he thought, but what took her so long? No matter, her position was no longer secure.

He darted his eyes around the room, and everything was in place, and the ghost of his father had ceased to haunt him. Relief settled in. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and noticed it had been bandaged. What kind of injuries did he sustain, he wondered, during this nightmarish episode?

The door creaked open again, and the same footsteps followed. Rufus braced himself for a confrontation with the nurse. Fearing her incompetence would tarnish the institution’s reputation, he sought to fire her immediately. He drew a breath and prepared to speak up, but when his eyes met with hers, they widened with disbelief.

“This is another hallucination, isn’t it?” He laughed with hostility. “What are you doing here?”  
Her name escaped him, but he recognized her as the woman he had once captured and tried to publicly execute. The Avalanche scapegoat.

“I was passing by earlier when I heard you scream.” She said contemptuously. “You may be a monster, but I’m not so cold as to ignore someone in pain. Here,” she held a warm compress against his jaw, “You were having a seizure. You’ve hurt yourself.”

“Thank you,” he responded, and signaled at the exit just past the hallway, hoping she would make use of it. “I’m feeling much better now. Perhaps you should leave.”

“Oh, but here’s the thing. I’ve booked a room here, so I’ll be staying indefinitely.”

“A room here, at Healen Lodge? Then you are a patient, I presume?”

“I guess you could say that.” Her ruby eyes waxed and waned, flickering indifferently. “I guess you could say that I’ve … been sick for a long time.”

When Rufus inspected the woman more carefully, he noticed something strange; her face was devoid of color. Ghastly circles bulged from under her eyes. Bruises littered both her arms and legs and seemed to trail into areas obscured by her clothing.

There was no doubt about it; life had broken her since the last time they met, but he dared not pry. Not right this moment, anyway. He was well-versed in a lot of things, but tenderness was not one of them, and he preferred to leave any counseling to the expertise of the trained staff.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for here.” He said with a hint of sincerity, and she responded in kind with a faint smile.

“I’ll be heading back to my room now." She looked down at her feet. “If you need anything…just ask.”

He nodded, watching her head out the door and disappear into the landscape.

*****

Rufus, bearing a strange mixture of guilt and gratitude, decided to deliver flowers to the woman's door the week following his recovery. The secretary at the information desk informed him that her name was Tifa Lockhart, and that she was staying in Lodge #7.

He wore his usual attire, a white suit with a dark shirt, and knocked patiently at her door. Calla lilies grew in abundance this time of year, so he brought her a bouquet of them, gently wrapped in gold leaf paper.

When Tifa answered the door, she was in her nightgown and was disheveled from having slept the day away. She blushed at the sight of the blond President, who was polished to the nines, and averted her gaze as she received the flowers from him. “I…wasn’t expecting company,” She said, attempting to brush the mats out of her hair with her fingertips. “But thank you.”

Rufus nodded silently, and turned away to go about his evening.

“Wait.”

He stopped suddenly at her request. “What is it?”

“Would you like to come in for some tea?” She left the door open for him, and he let himself inside.

An awkward silence ensued when he seated himself inside of her living room. She was not his friend, and yet it would be farfetched to call her his enemy. Avalanche had dissolved, after all, and the planet had been decimated. If there was ever a time for conciliation, that time was now.

Rufus fumbled with the coins in his hands. “How do you like your room?” He asked as a meager attempt to break the ice.

“I like it. The view from here is breathtaking; so verdant and green. I lived in the slums for so long that I've forgotten what it’s like to witness all this splendor. Oh!” She paused. “There’s a piano, too. I had one when I was a kid.”

Rufus smiled arrogantly, as if to express pride in his establishment. He sauntered over to the piano and wiped the dust off the keys. An idyllic tune escaped from his fingers as he began to play, filling the room with serenity.

Tifa closed her eyes, intrigued by the music.Her shoulders placated as the music continued, and she leaned comfortably against the wall.

“I’m surprised.” She admitted. “You don’t seem like someone who could play something so pretty.”

“I wasn’t allowed to leave the Shinra gates as a child.” Rufus explained. “I had a lot of free time on my hands, so I was classically trained in the arts.”

“There’s a lot of emotion in your playing. Where does it come from?” 

He paid her no mind, instead pausing his tune. “You know, something’s bothering me.”

Tifa looked at him, confused.

“Aren’t you afraid? I own this place, you know. I can do whatever I want.” His expression turned grim. “I can make you disappear.”

Tifa sighed, removing herself from the wall. “Of course I’m afraid.” She headed into the kitchen and tinkered through an assortment of loose teas. “Do you like earl grey?”

“I’d like to know why you’ve decided to come here of all places.” He watched her steep the leaves through a strainer.

She bit down on her lip and poured the tea into porcelain cups. “Does it matter?”

“We don’t exactly share an amicable history, so yes, I should think that it matters.”

“What’s there to explain?” She said with hostility, and he could tell her guard had assembled. “I wanted to escape for a little bit, and it’s beautiful here. The hills are lined with trees and foliage and waterfalls and...” Tears began to fill her eyes in spite of her words. She turned away so that he could not see her cry.

Rufus walked over, grabbed a handkerchief from his lapel, and curled it in her palm. It was a shame he had to press her so hard, but his suspicions overcame him. “My apologies, Miss Lockhart. I do not know how to comfort you." He paused, glancing at the bar in the room. "I have an idea, but it’s probably not a good idea.”

“Try me.” She taunted, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. “My expectations are very, very low.”

He reached into his pocket for a case, and pulled out a cigar. He lit the cigar, puffed it, and passed it to her. She took a puff, watching the ribbons of smoke dance from her lips. The taste of him lingered in her mouth. When the smoked parted, she spotted him at the bar, pouring whiskey into an old-fashioned glass; one for her and one for himself.

“You’re right.” She admitted. “This is a bad idea.”

“You came to here escape, didn’t you?” He asked. He downed his drink and was already pouring himself another one.

“...I did.” She said, surrendering herself to the glass before her.


	2. Blue Eyes, Blond Hair

Tifa dreamt of blue eyes, blond hair, and a lone sunspot on the chin. She dreamt of a voice, cold but melodic, laughing with her as they stared out into the vast, mountainous scenery beneath them. She was feeling whimsical in her dream, and dangled herself off the edge of a balcony with a glass of whiskey in her hand — and a pair of strong arms came to her rescue. She giggled hysterically and fixated on the blond hair, how perfectly bright it looked against the backdrop of the evening dusk. And then, when the blue eyes were no longer blue, but ashen from cigar smoke, she leaned in and stole a kiss.

In her mind, she had kissed Cloud Strife, but her body held a different set of memories. It was the waft of expensive cologne that made her doubt who she was kissing; the notes of myrrh, balsam, and ambergris smothering her nostrils as fragments of the night before began to elucidate.

No, Cloud could not have been the one in her dream; he did not dwell as a prince in her subconscious. He was, without fail, always at the forefront of her thoughts -- as flesh and blood.

The phantom in her dream whispered something to her. He asked about the bruises which riddled throughout her limbs, and she told him the truth, which was that she had gotten into a scuffle with someone, someone near and dear to her. She must have looked sad when she said it, because he responded in kind by sharing a piece of himself, telling her his father used violence to discipline him and make him into a man.

“Crying wasn’t permitted in my household.” He said, and for some reason he began speaking about a childhood memory in which he received a little black dog from his father. “It was the strangest thing. My father was always beating and degrading me; telling me how worthless I was, how I wasn’t fit to inherit his position. But then, he’d given me this dog for my birthday.” He slurred a bit from the whiskey. “She was…the most wonderful gift I had ever received.” His body reclined in the chair, and he blushed — either from the alcohol or the embarrassment of oversharing, she wasn’t sure.

Tifa held his hand in hers, and told him she would like to kiss him some more, but everything became a blur from that point on — a mosaic of sensations which bled into each other. She could still smell his cologne, yet anything beyond that was a vague imprint at best, and she could not tell if any of it was real.

****

She woke up nestled in silk sheets and large pillows with tassels on them; garish luxuries she was still not accustomed to. The lodge was decadent and she felt like an imposter inside of it; a barmaid from the slums playing princess.

Aerith would have loved it here, she thought, looking into the massive filigreed mirror. She pictured Aerith in a nightgown, sitting in front of the large canvas, making paintings with gouache and sable brushes. Her heart felt at peace for a moment, but then it ached, because Aerith was not there, could never be there,  
but maybe, just maybe if she was,  
Cloud would...

She cut off that line of thinking. It was no use living in the past.

The medicine cabinet in the powder room had pills for a headache, which Tifa thanked her lucky stars for, because she was suffering from a massive hang over. Bartenders do not normally drink themselves into oblivion, they simply help others do so. And yet, last night, she became carried away; she could barely remember anything. She was certain she made a fool out of herself in front of the President, who was no doubt much more composed than she was. She must have chipped at his pristine veneer, annoying him.

A part of her thought that was funny. She hated the Shinra, after all, to this day. Lucky for Rufus, however, there was one thing she hated more, and that was losing to her memories. She would pardon him, treat him with a clean slate, if only to avoid living in the dirt and grime known as her past. The burning of Nibelheim, and the events which followed involving Sephiroth, Aerith, and Cloud, were painful memories she fought to purge so that she could trudge forward without breaking.

She ran the clawfoot bathtub to cleanse herself, a task she’d been putting off. It had been week into her stay at the Healen Lodge and all she had done was sleep. She wanted to forget why she came all this way; it was not a pretty thing to think about. As she slipped out of her nightgown, numerous bruises unveiled themselves in the mirror behind her. The blacks and blues had begun to mend, but she hated looking at them; they filled her with an unbearable sadness and rage, and she was already repressing enough.

*****

It had rained.The phone rang in the living room. Tifa went to answer it. 

“Miss Lockhart?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“There’s an emergency contact coming to pick you up.”

“An emergency contact?”Confusion overtook her.She had not listed any emergency contact.

Her heart stopped.She knew at once who it was;she had booked a room at Healen to escape from him, but her whereabouts were exposed.She paced back and forth in the room, frantic.There was no choice now.A confrontation was inevitable.She began to pack her things, piles of clothing bestrewed across the floor, a comb, towels and toiletries.  Her hands shook as she collected them, throwing them haphazardly into the suitcase. 

She rode the gondola lift with Rufus that afternoon; they were high up in mid-air, and the fog made everything seem white. She could scarcely see the trees and waterfalls through all the haze.

“I heard you were going home today.” Rufus said with distant eyes, gazing through the glass of the car.

“I think so. There’s so much to do back at the bar.”

He paused for a few minutes, as if deeply contemplating his next words. “You would return to him... although he’s hurt you?”

Tifa was taken aback. Just how much did she reveal to Rufus that night? Her heart skipped anxiously, but she stilled it with her palm. Perhaps he knew everything. Perhaps he knew nothing. She didn’t want to ask, because then she’d have to talk about it.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” was all she could say.

“Fair enough.”

There was silence, and the mist continued to engulf them as they descended down the mountains.

“What about you, Rufus? Why are you leaving the lodges?”

“The Turks have arrived to retrieve me for their next mission.”

She smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“Hmm... why is that?”

“Things tend to happen to you when you’re left to your own devices.”

“You worry for me.” He smirked. “That’s sweet.”

“When I was a girl back in Nibelheim, I’d read the newspapers about you. The headlines were always super flashy. They’d say things like: Meet Rufus Shinra, The Spoiled Heir Who Can’t Even Put On His Own Socks.”

“I can put on my own socks, thank you,” he said curtly, “but yes, I remember that headline. My father hid me from the public eye up until then. A journalist snuck into our headquarters that day and snapped a few photographs of me defying one of the servants — not an everyday occurrence, mind you. Nevertheless, the narrative was born, that I was a petulant brat.”

Tifa laughed. “How much of those news stories were true, I wonder…?”

He cradled his chin in his palm. “Well, that's hard to say, since we all have a public self... and then a private self. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so.”

As they approached landing, Rufus leaned forward from his seat, brushed his head against hers, and whispered softly, “There’s no shame in having secrets, Miss Lockhart.”

And his lips were so close, that she recognized them as the ones she had kissed in her "dream".


	3. Cloud Strife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for scenes involving past alcohol abuse, addiction, and domestic violence.

The drive home was soundless. Edge was still a ways from Healen Lodge. Cloud’s hair ruffled in the wind as he steered the wheel, and his skin appeared bloodless in the daylight. He mirrored Tifa in that they both seemed tired and worn out from living. An eyepatch stood in the place of an injury where her fist had once landed.

“So...how did you find me?” She asked.

“I hired someone.”

“Who?”

His lips were sealed at first, but then he caved in so as not to further degrade the trust between them.

“...Reno.”

Tifa figured the Turks were involved somehow; they had a massive intelligence network that got word around quickly. She considered herself lucky, however, that information regarding the President’s personal business was probably off limits to them. If Cloud were to learn that she spent a night kissing Rufus Shinra of all people, she’d have to run away again, and next time, her options would be fewer.

They drove through blades of grass, crossing bumpy roads and fields of yellow lilies. In the rear window of the car, she watched the mountains and waterfalls of Healen Lodge become smaller and smaller.  
Tifa felt strangely comforted despite the tension between them. She missed driving with Cloud like this. The breeze was pleasant that day, and the air smelled sweet from the passing rain. She closed her eyes and dozed off into slumber.

When they arrived, Seventh Heaven felt just as big and barren as it did before. The kids had left home some months ago. Marlene cheerfully reunited with Barret in Corel, and Denzel left to study at a boarding school in Kalm for the semester.

She opened the door to her bedroom. Everything was in place. Her clothing was freshly laundered, neatly folded into her drawers. Cloud had done the housework for her while she was gone. It was his indirect way of saying “I thought about you.”

He often compensated for what he could not express verbally by doing things. He would bring her food and snacks on his way home from delivery jobs. He sewed the holes in her nightgowns whenever he spotted them. He was always giving her things, armor and trinkets and materia, and equipment for the bar which he thought would make her life easier.

That night, when Tifa went into the bath, he offered to help.

“Your hair is matted.” He said.

“I know.”

He reached for the wide-tooth comb behind the silver mirror. His fingers drifted through her wet hair, feeling for knots, untangling them one by one with the comb. So many had accumulated over the course of the week that he had to take his time, carefully seeking out every twist and knob.

Tifa’s hair was long and silky and he missed touching it. He drew a deep breath, closing his eyes, inhaling into her. “Tifa, I—“

“Please Cloud.” She silenced him. “Don’t ... say anything.” Her voice was small and quivered before trailing into nothing.

He shut up and continued brushing out her hair. Next he took a sponge and washed her, lathering the soap against her neck and breasts. He forced himself to look at the bruises which he had left all over, but it was difficult, as he had no memory of what he did, only that he did it.

She rinsed herself off with the tap. “Should we switch places?” Standing upright, she lifted one leg out of the tub, then the other, and toweled herself off.

He nodded, and undressed.

Tifa squirmed when she witnessed the number she had done on him. She didn’t know her own strength sometimes; he was lucky to still have his bones in tact. Cloud’s skin was blue and red all over, scabs formed down his torso where skin had broke. She closed her eyes tightly to shield herself from the sight of him and proceeded to wash him without looking.

“You don’t have to do this, Tifa.” He sighed. “I’m the one that messed up.”

“No, I’ve hurt you, too.”

“You were only trying to defend yourself.”

He wasn’t wrong. The last time she saw him, he had drunk himself to amnesia and gotten horribly violent with one of their customers. Tifa happened to be in the line of fire, shielding the guest from Cloud’s drunken rage, and when she begged him to stop, he no longer possessed any semblance of reason. He beat her to the floor senselessly until every inch of her was black and blue. She was in such a state of shock that she allowed it to go on for sometime before stopping him with her own brand of force. The customers fled in terror and the bar was left in shambles.

Cloud’s struggle with alcoholism was nothing new. Tifa had been breaking up fights at the bar every other night, cleaning up his puke, and tucking him into bed after he blacked out. Customers who were fed up with his episodes of rage left in droves to Johnny’s bar instead; business suffered. Locals gossiped resentfully, dubbing the place Seventh Hell.

Cloud overheard Tifa sobbing on the phone once.  
“I don’t know how to get him to stop drinking, Barret.” Her voice was shattered into tiny gasps. “I mean for heaven’s sake, we live in a _bar_.”

He spent long hours working, and then holed himself in his room with the company of his liquor. Tifa could not remember the last time she saw him do anything else. So while it was true that he had never laid a hand on her until that night, his emotional abandonment of her had long been set into stone.

*****

After they bathed, Tifa asked Cloud to come to bed with her. She wanted a moment of reconciliation and knew that speaking was not one of his strengths.  
She laid beneath him in the dark, absorbing the stillness in the room. “Kiss me,” she said, trying to steer the stillness into motion, and he leaned forth, grasping her by the chin. His lips met with hers and they were just as she remembered them. For a moment she felt contented. She grinded her hips into his, and he seemed to enjoy it at first. But then he became still, and his face paled in the moonlight.

“What’s wrong?” Tifa asked, eyes brimming with concern.

The lamp flickered on.

“I’m sorry Tifa.” He looked down guiltily. “It’s not you... it’s...” He took a deep breath. “I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be silly, there’s nothing to be nervous about.” She slid his manhood into her hand and tried to help him, but he stopped her, shaking his head.

“Fine. Maybe ... we could try again tomorrow?” Tifa sighed. Perhaps it was too early to press for intimacy; the wounds were still fresh between them.

He nodded, gave her a kiss, and turned the lamp back off. He threw the blanket over himself, made himself comfortable, and slept like an inanimate object.

Tifa laid in bed alone with her thoughts as Cloud began to snore next to her. She suddenly recalled Rufus’ parting words: _There’s no shame in having secrets, Miss Lockhart._

She wondered what he meant by that. His eyes were roguish and filled with intention; envisioning them made her shiver.

Just how much did Rufus remember of that night? And how much of herself did she share with him?

For a moment, she wondered if they had done anything beyond kissing. It was possible; she was so uninhibited he could have, in theory, done whatever he wanted to her. They were alone in the night; it was his establishment. Whatever happened in that lodge was inevitably lost forever.

Her mind began to wander. They definitely spoke about themselves, she remembered that much. She saw the cigar smoke gently veiling his lips, and kissed them. She remembered that, too.

Tifa closed her eyes and tried to conjure up what the rest of the night may have looked like, mixing and matching the infinite possibilities.

Maybe he told her more of his secrets than she could remember. He must have pressed her close against him, because the smell of his cologne lingered in her memory with great clarity.

Maybe he took his suit off, pinned her against the silk sheets of the large, four-post canopied bed, and rolled his tongue down her torso.

Flustered, she cut off that line of thought immediately.

She was back with Cloud now. Everything was going to be okay.

They were going to try again tomorrow.


	4. Behind The Veil

Tifa’s moment of respite with Cloud was short-lived.

The nightmare had begun again, this time with a shattered wine bottle. A hundred tiny shards glimmered at her feet. Her knees leaned against the floor as she picked up the pieces one by one with her bare hands. They pricked at her skin, leaving little pools of blood in her palms.

Cloud stumbled over the bar seat and fell to the ground, blustering like a fool. He had been one week sober until then. “I’m going to try really hard,” he told her in the beginning, “I don’t want to hurt you ever again.” And he said so with such conviction that she believed him.

But today was the anniversary of Aerith’s death, and he couldn’t help himself. He needed a drink. Just one, he lied, to both Tifa and himself.

Her blood trailed behind them as she dragged his body to his room, climbing over the disarray of liquor bottles piled up like a landfill. After tucking him into bed, she headed to the bathroom where she reached for the first aid kit. She washed her wounds and wrapped bandages around herself haphazardly; it was difficult to do so on her own, and the bandages kept slipping as stabs of pain shot through her hands.

She sat down on the toilet seat and cried. It was so desolate in their home, so barren. She felt like a gray substance, merely existing. She fantasized about setting the bar on fire, watching it all burn to the ground as she and Cloud became engulfed in flames.

Before her thoughts could descend further into destruction, her phone lit up, and a message from an unknown number appeared.

 _Hope you are watering those calla lilies._ It read.

This startled her. She hardly ever received messages these days. It could only have been one person. _They look lovely on the counter behind the bar. How are you doing?_ She wrote back. _Are the Turks taking good care of you?_

_Yes. No further episodes since. And you?_

Tifa didn’t respond. She placed the phone down on the shelf and thought to check up on Cloud, but the messages persisted:

_I’m in Edge for the night. Would you like to meet?_

*****

Tifa slipped on a black trenchcoat and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Her shoulders jerked back. “Oh, Cloud. You startled me.”

Cloud had gotten out of bed and was staggering towards her, wasted. “You aren’t going to disappear again, are you?” He asked, doe-eyed and nervous. He looked like a little boy.

“No, no, Cloud,” she responded, “I was just heading to the apothecary. We’re out of potions.” She was surprised at how natural her lie appeared. Tifa wasn’t a liar, but something inside of her was changing. She didn’t fully understand it yet. “Please, will you get some rest?”

He nodded and walked away, tripping over himself as he went back into his room.

She threw her boots on and headed outside. The alleyway was the most quiet and discreet route. Shadows engulfed her as she made her way through. She waddled through a disarray of trash and litter, side-stepping mounds of industrial waste.

Rufus was waiting for her at the other end of the alley, where the city lights had begun to peek through.

“Good evening, Miss Lockhart.” He said with downcast eyes, face veiled in cigar smoke.

“Hello, Rufus.”

It was an awkward moment. She had nothing to say. Frankly, it was surprising that she was in his thoughts at all. She dawdled shyly, making eye contact then withdrawing it quickly. Rufus’ eyes met with hers and did not stray, even when she looked away.

“Ah, before I forget.” He reached into his lapel pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.

Tifa’s eyes widened when she opened it. “Rufus... this is ... I can’t accept this.”

“You need it, don’t you? You told me you were behind on rent.”

“I-I said that?”

“Yes. The night at the lodge.”

She threw her hands in her face shamefully.

“Speaking of which, I’ve covered your stay at Healen Lodge as well. I am always on the move, and my schedule is hectic. As much as I’d like to check in regularly, that isn’t feasible. But this,” he touched the envelope in her hand, “is something I can do. With ease.”

“Rufus,” she began to explain, “I had too much to drink that night and said, or did, god knows what. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I—“

“You saved my life.” He interjected. “It’s no meager debt that I owe you.”

She looked down submissively, and pocketed the envelope.

“Are things all right otherwise?” He asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Business is rebounding slowly.”

“And the boyfriend?”

Tifa averted her eyes. “We’re... he’s...”

Rufus dissected her with a penetrating gaze.

“Everything’s great.” She chuckled nervously.

“Not a good liar, are we?”

Tifa sighed. She took his sleeve and guided him further away from the alley. If they were going to talk about Cloud, she needed to be as far from the bar as possible. Her palms began to sweat as she walked alongside Rufus; she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something _wrong_. If the locals spotted them together, she’d never hear the end of it from anyone — not Cloud, not their neighbors, and certainly not Barret or the others. She hid her face behind her hair.

“We’re fine.” She said finally. They reached an archway with nothing within but cobblestone benches and playground swings, and she sat herself in a swing. “I have no idea what I told you that night, but Cloud and I are fine.”

“Hmm... so ‘fine’ that you had to take me out to a vacant lot just to say so.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

Rufus paused for a moment, looking up at the violet sky. “I just want to set you free.” He said, pushing her forward and watching her swing like a pendulum.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Her hair danced in mid-air. The swing descended to a grinding halt and she stumbled backwards.

He caught her by the wrist, and his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re bleeding.” He said, perturbed. Fresh crimson seeped through her bandages. “I-I’m fine,” she stuttered, “I just tripped on my way here.”

“These bandages won’t hold. Come with me.”

*****

When they arrived in his hotel room, Rufus had Tseng disinfect Tifa’s wounds and tether new bandages around them.

“Tseng doesn’t look it, but he possesses a medical background.” Rufus explained. “He’s handled a number of my injuries.”

Tifa nodded. She didn’t know much about the Turks, simply that Reno and Rude stopped by the bar sometimes. The pair was inseparable; Reno was the outspoken one and Rude kept his thoughts to himself. Neither had been around to witness Cloud’s episodes, thankfully.

“All finished, Mr. President.” Tseng said, barely acknowledging her. “Is there anything else to be done? Should I escort her home?”

“No, it’s fine.” Rufus said, “You can leave us now.”

Tseng nodded and went about his way in silence. The door closed, imparting a gust of wind.

“The night is young, Miss Lockhart.” Rufus poured champagne for her. “What should we get up to?”

She had a moment of dejavu watching him pour the drink. Her legs shifted instinctively, standing up and moving towards the exit. “I should really get going.” She smiled nervously. “Cloud’s waiting for m—“

Rufus blocked her path. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What…?” She didn’t like the tone of his voice. It was authoritative, as though he _owned_ her. “Get out of my way.” She demanded.

“Now, Miss Lockhart. You know I can’t do that.” He pulled her wrist to eye level. “He did this to you, didn’t he?”

She looked down shamefully.

“How do I know you’re going to be safe if you go back?”

“Listen,” she tried to assure him, “Cloud’s not a bad guy. He just has a few problems.”

“A few?” Rufus snickered. “It pains me to say this, but you are not leaving this room tonight. I witnessed the bruises on you last time…” He followed his sentence with a devilish smirk, sending a chill down her spine. “…quite intimately.”

Tifa blushed, albeit begrudgingly. “What do you want from me?”

“Right now?” His hand moved behind him, locking the door. “Your safety.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Your belief is of no concern to me. Outcomes are what I seek, and the outcome of your safety requires you to be here..” He smiled, “With me.” He grabbed her shoulders and guided her back into the room, towards the bed. “Don’t resist. I would hate to have to use force to subdue you. Now,” he placed his gloved palms on her cheeks. “Where is the dashing woman that kissed me that night?”

“Stop toying with me!” she yelled, but her anger was tinged with vulnerability. She didn’t know who she was angry at, exactly. Was it Cloud, who had shattered her idyllic image of a happy family over and over again until she became numb — or Rufus, who appeared interested in her only as a conquest of sorts? She slammed her fist into his face. “I don’t need any pity — or whatever this is — from you!”

Rufus, falling to the ground from the blow of her punch, clutched his jaw in his hand and looked away. “…Fine.” He surrendered. “Do as you wish.”

Tifa felt triumphant at first, but then she remembered what she’d be returning home to — the same nightmare she’d been living for months now. She turned to the wall and punched it repeatedly, littering it with large holes.

“Now, now.” Rufus stood up from the ground and approached her from behind. “What good does that do? You’ll reopen your wounds.”

“Why did you bring me here?!” She screamed. “To laugh at me, at how far I’ve fallen in life? Does it satisfy you to watch your enemies break?”

“No.” Rufus responded calmly. “I simply wanted to see you. Not as a former enemy, and certainly not to toy with you. To be honest…” He appeared embarrassed. “I thought there might be something between us, but I guess I was wrong.”

Tifa withdrew herself from the wall and relaxed her shoulders. He didn’t sound like he was lying. There was no need to make such a scene in front of him. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” She said, choking on her own voice. Tears streamed down her face.

Rufus mustered up the nerve to put his hand on her shoulder again. “I know you don’t believe me, but my life isn’t much brighter than yours. Geostigma left me in a vegetative state for a long time. The doctors said I wouldn’t make it. I’ve had many brushes with death, and the fear of dying — without ever having loved — looms over me.” He looked at her with eyes that were no longer cold, but glowing fervently. “I don’t wish to be alone any more than you do.”

Tifa stared at him, startled by the transparency of his words, and reached behind herself to dim the lamp. She placed her head in his chest and allowed herself to become vulnerable in his presence.

If she learned to trust him, would the Shinra in her memories disappear? And Cloud, and Sephiroth, and Nibelheim, too?

If she could strip away the wall between them, what would she find?

Maybe it wasn’t an enemy that stood behind the veil of whiskey and cigar smoke, but the mirror image of her own shadow — a broken human in need of a silver lining.


	5. Love, Sweetness, and Tenderness

Rufus caught a reflection of himself in the glass door leading to the balcony of the hotel room. He was, on the surface, beautiful and substantial; a flawless object which had been handsomely polished.

But this meant nothing to him, nor did riches and pleasures of the flesh. He would, in the light of his mortality, trade all the opulence in the world for the things he could only dream of; the elusive thrills of love, sweetness, and tenderness. Such things were abstractions to him, algorithms of shapes and colors he could not fathom. He had experienced romance of this caliber in theory only, from the films played on the silver screens of Shinra theaters, or the piano scores he learned as a child. Romance held for him an inexplicable allure, and Tifa Lockhart was now the embodiment of his unfulfilled fantasies.

They stood in an embrace near the hearth of the fireplace, where he placed his hand on her head, petting her as though she were a kitten. “There, there.” He whispered.

Connecting with her was no easy task; he had only ever bonded with Darkstar before, and that was no proper substitute for experience. Had Tifa been his prey, he would have conquered her with ease. As her confidant, however, he felt wholly inadequate. His fingers stumbled gracefully in her hair, running down the nape of her neck as he tested the waters between them, the limits of where he could touch.

“What would you like from me?” He asked, wishing to mend the ache within her, but not knowing how, and she lingered in his chest for a bit, flickering her eyelashes against his collarbone.

“Honestly?” She said after a long bout of silence. “I have no clue.”

“There must be something.”

She cuffed her hands, bandaged and weak, on his shoulders, and sighed into him. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s asked me what I wanted. Shortly after meteor struck, I took on a parental role with the kids. Cloud and I agreed to be a family, you see...” her face grew warm, as if exuding an afterglow from a distant memory, “Things were quiet back then. I would maintain the bar and take care of the kids while Cloud worked. I never had time to think about myself — the kids had to be fed, their schooling taken care of, their social and emotional needs met. Maybe I did get lonely sometimes, but that didn’t really sink in until they left, and Cloud... well, you know.”

“I don’t know much of what it means to have a family.” Rufus said quietly, and for a moment he pictured Tifa as his bride, her hair draped in a lace veil, her stomach swelled with pregnancy. This fantasy, albeit pleasant, caused him great discomfort, and he closed his heart to it immediately. “I was more of a commodity than a son, but, I digress. Surely there is something I can do for you tonight.”

“I think the more appropriate question is, what do _you_ want from _me_? Someone like you, who has the freedom to do anything he wants, to be with anyone he wishes, has chosen, instead, to take part in this mess I’m in. Can you blame me for being wary?”

 _To do anything he wants, to be with anyone he wishes_ , she said, as though this world, barren as it was, remained his oyster, and he, the vessel dying before her, retained some glimmer of youth. “You’re mistaken, “ he said, “I am not who you think I am.”

“Then...who are you?” Her tone of voice demanded transparency. Perhaps she believed there was a mystery dwelling inside of him, a secret that would reveal itself if she would just reach for it. She placed her hands into the collar of his shirt, unfastening its buttons one by one until it hung loose on him.

As though by instinct, he receded from her. “Forgive me.” He winced, looking down at himself. “It’s not a pleasant sight you are about to witness.” Under the flaps of his shirt, his skin bore discolored patches, large and irregular lesions splotched with thin red veins. “These are from the aftereffects of Geostigma. And these...” he signaled further down below his rib cage, revealing a set of scars extending into his back, “Lashings from my servants, on behalf of my father’s rage.”

“So ... this is the real Rufus Shinra.” She said, warming his ice cold body with the heat of her breath. Her fingers studied the birthmarks on his chest and the freckles on his stomach, familiarizing herself with them.

“Not what you were expecting?”

“Not quite so... real. You were once a concept to me. A spoiled rich kid in the headlines, and then vaguely, a symbol of evil created in the image of your father. It’s funny, isn’t it...?” She stared at the star-shaped mole on his chest right above an unsightly welt.

“What is?” A pang of self-consciousness overcame him.

“When the person you love, more than anything in this world, bears his dark side to you,” she paused, “and the person you hate, with every fiber of your being… bears his soul.” Her eyes gleamed in the fire, flowing like pools of wine, and the twin flames dancing inside of them ignited color in her face.

Rufus touched her cheek. How lovely she looked ... when she was roseate with life. A stark contrast from the bloodless visage he witnessed at the lodge. He preferred her this way. They could become intimate, he thought, though there would be no whiskey to relieve them of accountability this time. They would become lovers, hidden in plain view, bound by an invisible thread.

He ran his thumb across her lips; they were plush like he remembered. “You look very beautiful tonight.” He said, inducing a blush in her. She did not reply.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, nothing.”

“Nothing?” He pressed.

“I’m feeling exposed.”

“I’m the one standing here, exhibiting all of my scars.” He said teasingly, and removed his shirt so that she could witness all of him. “Hideous, isn’t it? If you left now, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Her lips then curved upwards into a smile, which she tried to hide so as not to appear impudent. “It’s oddly satisfying seeing you like this.” She confessed.

“You mean, withered and decayed?”

“Right.” She said unapologetically, and without further explanation, continued touching him. “The texture of your skin is new to me,” her hand wandered up his neck and cupped his chin, “but your lips, and your tongue, and the smell of your cologne — they’ve been haunting me since the night at the lodge.” Her voice was beginning to echo the way it sounded when she kissed him that night. “You know,” she continued, “I never had the guts to seduce Cloud. I was afraid of what would happen if I did. We were at the Gold Saucer once, and I wanted to ask him out on a date. But I dawdled for too long, ironing out all the small details, and,” her fist clenched, “someone else asked him first...”

“Sounds like he missed out on a wonderful evening,” he said, fixated on the cupid bow of her lips, “but I won’t.” He angled her towards the rose colored bed, leading her through the cascade of silk draperies.

She laid on the bed beneath his weight, allowing him to take the lead; perhaps she was curious as to what he had in mind, or felt that it was his turn to act after she had so boldly kissed him before.  
He placed a hand on her thigh. The convenience of her miniskirt made it all too feasible for him to cross any tenuous line he desired and, overwhelmed with choice, he desired to cross so many.

“Your breasts.” He said, after a long pause, as though he had reached a conclusion in his mind.

“What about them?”

“Inquiring minds need to know if they’re okay. God knows where else you’ve been hurt.”

She lead his hand into her shirt. He reached behind her to unhook her bra, tossing it to the side of the bed, and savored the view in front of him. “Well, that’s a relief,” he sighed, “they’re ... perfect.”  
He leaned forward and kissed them.

****

Tifa closed her eyes, allowing him to consume her. The sensation of his tongue circling her nipples was foreign to her. Goosebumps emerged from her skin as she trembled under the pressure of his mouth; she tried to placate her nerves by imagining he was Cloud, that it was Cloud’s tongue wrapping all around her, but this clearly did not ease any feelings of guilt. Rufus’ touch was cold and alien, and she laid before him like a doll, unable to relax completely.

He stopped when he noticed her discomfort. “Does that not feel good?” He asked, surprisingly perceptive, and removed himself from her chest. “Would you prefer it if we kissed?”

She nodded, and he inclined his mouth forward to gather her lips. The taste of him confirmed, without a doubt, that they had done this before, and flashbacks of the night at the lodge returned to her:

She saw herself on the balcony of the lodge, laughing and crying, threatening to throw herself over the ledge, and Rufus, fraught with panic, ran from his chair and took her into his arms.

“Let go of me,” she said, crumbling, “I’m going to disappear. Return to the planet. No one would even notice.”

“I would notice,” he was red and drunk from the whiskey, but used the last of his dexterity to keep her from falling, “if the woman who so generously saved my life plunged to her death one week later.” He stole a calla lily from the bouquet and placed it in her hair. “Stay with me tonight. Let us carouse and forget all of our problems.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she sniffled, “you don’t have an eviction notice waiting for you when you get home, or a boyfriend who won’t stop drinking—“

“Your bruises, then...”

She laughed with irony, so hard that she swelled with tears.

“I suspected it was him.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigar. “Well, that just about settles it, then. I will have to intervene. I can’t have you dyin—“

Her kiss must have caught him off-guard, because he looked so shocked he could barely move, but then he resigned to the fate of being her paramour, and their lips locked for what seemed like an eternity under a starlit sky.

Tifa drifted back to the present, where their previous kiss blurred into their current one, and his tongue swooped down to lap into hers. This much of him was familiar, like a recurring dream. She took shelter in his mouth, where the sensations of that night danced into her, and imprints of a vulnerable man flickered in her mind; his sadness, his scars, the way he would avert his gaze when he talked about his father. Could she be the one to put him out of his suffering? And could he ease hers?

Pleasure had all but disappeared from her life, replaced by an empty void. “Rufus,” she whispered, withdrawing from their kiss, “there _is_ something that I want from you.”

****

Rufus’ ears perked up, waiting for the words that were slow to come, and when they did, they were so timorous he almost could not hear them.

“I...” she sighed heavily, as if burdened by shame, “have never had an orgasm.”

The whites of his eyes expanded. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, “unfortunately, I’m completely serious.”

“I am sorry for profaning this beautiful moment between us with the mention of Cloud Strife, but ... you never prodded him for one?”

“He would come home from work every day so exhausted, I’d feel guilty about putting that kind of pressure on him. I’ve always put his pleasure before my own.” A foolish look appeared on her face. “I just want him to be happy.”

Rufus had no words; the indifference he felt towards Cloud was now despise. “I would be happy to give you one.” He said with all sincerity. He inhaled into her neck, exhaling onto her collarbone. The smell of her was sweet and she was beyond beautiful; he would gladly take her for as long as she insisted. He looked down below to see her grasping at his belt.  
“Allow me.” He said, taking hold of her wrists. “Careful with those hands of yours, we just patched them.”  
She watched him unravel himself. Her breasts, glistening with sweat, started to heave as the pace of her breath increased. It was as though she had begun to process what she’d really asked of him, but she could not stop him now; she was so close to knowing pleasure. She ran her hands up every muscle in his arms, sweltering with anticipation.

****

The buzzer rang, startling them.

“Yo Boss!” It was Reno knocking. “Elena wants to know what time we’re being dispatched!”

“Noon.” Rufus responded, in a casual tone to deter the Turk from intruding.

“Jeez, I knew it! That’s what I told her, but she insists that it’s seven. Can you text her or something? She won’t take my word for anything!”

They waited for him to leave, but his rambling went on incessantly. “I don’t understand why I have to share a room with that nut job. I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since we got here. Doesn’t she usually room with Tseng?”

“We may have to get dressed, my love.” Rufus whispered into her ear. “I think he wants to come in.”

Tifa nodded and went to gather herself.

The keycard activated and Reno stood in the open doorway. “That damned Elena—“  
His eyes darted over to Tifa, who although fully clothed, was clearly disheveled for some reason. “Whoa... uh...” he scratched his head. “Bad timing?”

“No, Reno. Your timing is ...” he bit down on his lip, “impeccable. What do you need?” He asked. His shirt draped sloppily over his shoulders, unbuttoned.

“I was just doing my nightly rounds. You know, making sure you’re not dead or anything like that.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Yeaaah.” Reno’s eyebrows furrowed, fixating on Tifa, who had moved to the corner of the room and was hiding her face. “Well, looks like everything’s just dandy, so uh, I’ll be letting myself out.” As he slipped through the door, he turned around once more, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

“My god,” Tifa gasped when he finally left, “Are the Turks watching you that closely? Don’t you have any privacy?”

“Scarcely.”

“Will he gossip...?”

“Possibly. Tseng wouldn’t. But Reno might. Why? Are you ashamed of being with me?”

“I ... don’t want Cloud to know about this. I don’t want to hurt him.” She was frantic.

“I believe _he_ is the one hurting you.” Rufus said, surprised by the bitterness in his own voice.

“We —“ she paused, gathering her breath, “just need some time to figure things out.”

“Oh? And what am I to you? A body for you to play with, as you ... figure things out?”

Tifa looked down. “I ... didn’t intend for this to happen.”

Rufus smiled. “I’m just messing with you. It’s fine.” He glanced at the champagne bottle in the periphery of his eye. “I’ll be a body. That makes things easier for me.”

She stood there, speechless.

“It’s as I said. My schedule is hectic. I’m never in one place. I’m also dreadfully insane in a number of ways, if you haven’t noticed.” He was drinking again, numbing himself of any emotional residue. “Hardly a justifiable replacement for your boyfriend.”

“Rufus...”

“It would be a problem if you started pining for me.” His smile persisted, but his eyes turned vacant, and the smell of alcohol fused with his cologne. He placed her trench coat over her shoulders, and went to stare at the cityscape through the sliding glass door.

How foolish Geostigma makes a person, he thought to himself, gazing at the hundreds of city lights flickering off in the distance — how thoroughly it breaks them and leaves them teeming with want and wistfulness for the things they cannot have. Love, sweetness, and tenderness; all abstractions to him, algorithms of shapes and colors dancing intangibly in his mind, teasing and taunting and torturing him. He dreamt again of Tifa veiled in white, his child in her belly, her soft flesh warming him in the dead of the night. It was a beautiful fantasy, one cut short by the glint of his reflection in the glass... ugly and atrophied, unbearable to look at.

Maybe he wasn’t good enough for her to want him; she had seen too much now of his monstrous, malformed self, and he did not appear any more beautiful on the inside, having once pillaged the planet for all it was worth.

Of course she would not want him, he thought, that much was certain, but after what she had requested of him tonight, he dared to ask. “Tifa,” he said, and it was the first time he had ever addressed her by name,  
“Do you believe that we are more than our scars?” and when his question was met with silence, the wall between them erected once more.


	6. Star Etched Candles

Sunlight poured through the windows of Seventh Heaven, dappling behind the vase of calla lilies. It was an idyllic morning basked in a still quietude. No one would ever suspect the tumultuous events that occurred over the past several months judging by the picturesque scene of a young couple in their home together.

Cloud sat with a glass of sparkling water before him, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table as Tifa organized the pantry in the kitchen.

“What would you like for breakfast, Cloud?” She asked, dusting her apron off with a mittened hand.

“Pancakes.”

“You had them yesterday,” she paused, “and the day before.”

“I like pancakes.”

Tifa laughed and shook her head. “A creature of habit, I guess...”  
She went to prepare the batter.

It may have been Cloud’s trauma that had him clinging to routine; this provided him an illusion of safety. He craved the same things every day, the same smells and textures. Familiar sounds, too, were most alleviating. He listened the whisking of the batter and the crackling that ensued when it was poured into the frying pan, all of which kept his world still.

Tifa scurried around in the kitchen, engaged in a manifold of activity, tossing eggshells into the wastebasket, flipping pancakes in mid air. Every action of hers, no matter how mundane or minute, was a piece of the life he deemed safe. He had erred yesterday, however, tipping the scale of their usual tedium, and for that he was feeling insecure.

“Where were you last night?” He asked.

“I went to the apothecary.” Her back remained turned to him as she answered.

“All night?”

“W-well... you broke your promise to me, so I got mad, and—“

He sighed. “It’s okay, Tifa. You don’t have to explain.” He knew he was in the wrong. There was hardly any question as to why, in his moment of inebriation, she had chosen not to breathe the same air as him. Inside the mirror which hung from the wall, Cloud could see himself for what he was: A puppet to liquid poison.

In his presence stood a tall glass of sparkling water, which he took small sips of. The water fizzled when it hit his tongue, sharp and stinging, unfamiliar compared to the blissful, bubbly sensation of booze. He did not enjoy it.

Tifa brought over his pancakes and a mug of coffee. The steam that rose from both were the same as they were yesterday, and the day before, and perhaps a hundred days prior. He relished in his gilded world of repetition, even if it spun so fast he could barely hold onto his sanity. As long as he could predict and foresee every aspect of his day, he would never have to deal with the notion of loss again.

Some time passed, and the sun began to set, bursting into hues of orange splashed across the dim blue sky.

As if it were an admission of guilt, Cloud spent the day doing Tifa’s laundry, mending holes in her bedclothes. He had gone into the kitchen while she was taking her bath, thinking he should surprise her with a dinner of her liking.

He sat on the bar stool with his chin in his palm. Decor was not his forte, nor were things romantic in nature. He began questing the kitchen for ideas, and upon opening a drawer underneath the dish rack, set eyes on a candle inside. It was a shade of midnight blue with nebulas of stars etched into it.

Marlene had exclaimed to him once, “Tifa really loves these! The pattern on them makes her feel nostalgic.”

There was but one candle left, melted to a stub. He would have to surprise her with new ones.

He proceeded out the door. It was a quiet evening in Edge, children playing in parks, neighbors walking their dogs. Cloud could not discern one face from another; he was never one for making eye contact or memorizing peoples’ names. He plowed through the crowds unnoticed.

When he arrived at the apothecary situated around the corner from Seventh Heaven, he peered into its large, mullioned windows. The shopkeeper within nodded hello and joined him by the entrance. “Good evening sir. What are you looking for?”

“A gift for my girlfriend.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Candles with stars carved in them.” He paused. “She likes stars.”

“A stargazer, eh? Must be quite the romantic.”

Cloud nodded, struggling with conversation. “She was here last night, around closing time. Black hair, ruby eyes.”

The shopkeeper looked at him, perplexed. Had Tifa not come for potions like she claimed?

“I’m sorry, sir. So many customers pass through, I have trouble remembering them all.”

“No problem.”

“However, you’re in luck. We have the star carved candles you are looking for, and it’s the last of our stock. They’re one of a kind, handmade artisanally in Icicle Inn.” The shopkeeper showed a gleam of teeth. “It’s an odd item, not something we normally carry. You’ll be the last to have it.”

“I’ll take it.”

He headed home, staring at the patterns on the ground that the starlight made through the trees. Tifa was still in the bath when he returned. In his haste to buy the candles, he had forgotten that he still needed to cook dinner. He rushed to the kitchen, going through their stock of ingredients. Luckily, he had a dish in mind.

Tifa would have the recipe saved, he thought, I’ll have to check her phone. He reached for the device which she had left by the sink.

 _Hope you are watering those calla lilies_ , he saw.

...Who the fuck was this?

Cloud spun around from the fridge and there they were, calla lilies sitting on the counter, taunting him. He hadn’t noticed them before, but they now stood out sorely, possessing within them a menacing aura.

_Are the Turks are taking good care of you?_

What did the Turks have to do with this conversation?  
Reno’s number was a dial away. He could call it, wire the man some gil to open his mouth.

No, he would not do that. This was between him and Tifa, and it was bad for him to invade her privacy like this — he knew he had to stop now, but his hand flicked through the messages as if entranced.

_I’m in Edge for the night. Would you like to meet?_

_Oh, I couldn’t_. She wrote back. _It’s way too late_.

 _I promise to be discreet._ Replied the message, increasingly provocative in tone.

_Maybe... maybe just for a few minutes then._

It was certain now. Cloud was going to burst through the bathroom door, startling her with the phone in his hand, and while he caught her off-guard, he’d press for answers, make her confess every last secret withheld from him.

He’d brace himself for a confrontation, where she would tell him that yes, in fact, there was someone else in her life. This was all because of his drinking, which she could no longer tolerate. She would stand before him with scorn in her eyes, and the long list of grievances she had been repressing would come pouring out of her, every last sentence barbed with resentment for him.

You barely talk to me, she’d say. You wall yourself in your room as if I don’t exist. You’re never there when I need you. You prefer the company of your alcohol, and lastly ... you are abysmal in bed.

And Cloud, swallowing what measly pride he had left, would admit that it was all true. He’d throw himself to his knees, pleading for forgiveness.

A bolt of reality struck him, and he was back in the kitchen, now standing in front of the stove which he had paced in front of without realizing. The bathroom door upstairs creaked open, inducing a sharp unpleasant sound. He looked up and there she was, sodden in her bath towel, drying her hair. “Is something wrong?” She asked.

“No.” He answered, craving a drink suddenly, insatiably. “Don’t worry about it, Tifa.”

“I should start preparing dinner.” She said, heading into the bedroom to get dressed.

He nodded, staring down at the star etched candles which laid dull and unlit beside him.

****

Night had come. A gentle breeze entered through the lace curtains. The sky was a shade of midnight blue, plastered with stars, just like the candles which hid carefully tucked in gift wrap inside the kitchen drawer.

Cloud stared at Tifa’s nude figure next to him, lightly veiled in a linen sheet. The sight, familiar as it was, continued to comfort him even in a moment of ambiguity and distress. “Goodnight, Tifa.” He kissed her eyelids as he always did.

“Goodnight, Cloud.” She dimmed the lamp.

He laid in bed like a wooden figure. They had followed their usual script, and yet something was different about Tifa that night, something so infinitesimal that if he hadn’t found the messages, it would have escaped him. It was a confusing space to be in — knowing too much, yet nothing at all.

He tried to picture the kind of person she would cheat on him with. The apparition, which had no face, was undoubtedly handsome, with a flair for romance, as seen through the messages they’d sent. Flowers and a secret tryst in the middle of the night could only be arranged by a person with verve and poetry; a person so completely unlike Cloud himself.

Cloud knew he was awkward and inexperienced. He had lost some vital years of his life imprisoned inside of a test tube, during which he dissociated physically in order to survive the trauma of Shinra’s experiments. He now did not understand the nature of his own body, let alone Tifa’s. They often fumbled clumsily in bed together, yet try as he did, he could not keep from getting nervous.  
He knew, in theory, the sort of things that lovers did, the pleasure they gave one another, but he had no map to guide him around this feeling of disembodiment — that his body was not his own — and when he touched her, it was as though he stood outside of them both, observing himself as he touched her.

He would place a hand on a thigh, her breasts, run his fingers through her hair, but he could not know for sure if he was effective in any of his efforts. Tifa was always smiling for him, her body a mystery, her feelings even moreso. He knew she did this to spare him of burden, but it made the gulf between them expand, and he could not reach the parts of her that extended beyond her smiling face.

“You’re doing fine, Cloud.” She’d say reassuringly, yet always with this vague, underlying tinge of disappointment. There were secrets locked in her heart. Things she dared not say out loud. She was like him, after all, afraid to leave the tedium of their safe, gilded world.

He leaned against the warmth of her back. The sensation of her body was intimate, familiar, but the person within frightened him.

_Tifa ... who are you?_   
_Who did you go and meet last night?_

He placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her over, and to his horror, it was not Tifa that he saw, but the apparition he had imagined earlier, the one without a face. It climbed over him, situated itself on his chest, and squeezing two hands on the apple of his throat, said to him in the most demonic voice, “Can you do it? Can you make her _come_?”

“F-fuck off!” Cloud yelled, pulling away, gasping for air. He swung a few punches at it, his fists landing on thin air.

“That’s right.” It taunted. “Beating things up, throwing tantrums. Losing it. That’s all you know how to do.”

“Shut up!” He cried. “You don’t know me!”

“Oh, I know much more about you than you do.” The thing had no eyes, but Cloud could feel it staring at him. “I know she prefers me over you. She _adores_ those calla lilies. Did you notice something different earlier when you were washing and sewing up her clothes? For example, the lingering scent of a man’s cologne...”

“Shut up! Shut up!”

“Smelled like cigars, too, didn’t they? But Tifa doesn’t smoke...”

“Shut up!” More punches were thrown in the air, followed by a kick, all fruitless. “Stay away from Tifa!”

“‘ _Stay away from Tifa._ ’” The apparition mocked. It swarmed around in the room, floating in mid-air, its ghastly white silhouette reeking of expensive cologne. “Oh, but I can’t do that. Who will take care of her, if not me? Don’t tell me you think ... that _you_ are the best candidate.”  
It laughed maniacally.

“I’m not listening to you!” He clamped his palms against his ears. “Just go away! Don’t come near Tifa again! Tifa is... Tifa is...” He screamed into the void. “Tifa is all I have left!”

“Cloud! What’s gotten into you?!” The lamp flicked on. It was not the apparition who hovered over him, but Tifa in its place.

“T-Tifa...” He gripped her tightly in his arms as though he would never see her again.

“Were you having a nightmare...? You were kicking and screaming all over the place. Hold still.” She wiped his head down with a cloth, “You’re sweating bullets.”

“Yeah,” he said, panting, “I was having a nightmare...”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, trembling. “It’s fine, Tifa. I’ve ... already forgotten it.”

Tifa looked away, her eyes fading in color as they always did when she was unsatisfied with his responses.

“Really, Tifa. Please don’t worry about me. It’s the mako. I still get nightmares sometimes.”

She touched his hand gently. “Everything’s okay, Cloud.”

 _Everything’s okay, Cloud._ But was it really?

She pressed her lips into his, and he wondered if he had been the only one to kiss them. In her hair, there was the faintest smell, not cologne, nor that of a cigar, but something unidentifiable to his senses, something unfamiliar. Her hands, which caressed him, were wrapped in unfamiliar bandages, and he did not know how the wounds got there. For all the years he had been acquainted with Tifa, there was something enigmatic about her that seemed everlasting. The girl he could not reach in his childhood had become the woman who laid in bed with him every night, bearing her body to him — a labyrinth of mysteries. As his tongue traveled through the twists and turns of her unwritten pathways, he could taste the ghost that had been there before him.


	7. This World Is Empty (Without You)

Winter had arrived in Edge, snow lining the battlemented rooftops, diamond dust scattered across the ethereal wings of stone figurines. There was an indifferent chill in the air that Tifa could only perceive as emptiness. The cold assailed her nostrils and caused them to swell, robbing her of vitality, leaving in its wake sickness and a throbbing fever. 

Broth simmered on the stovetop, slow-cooked with aromatic herbs. Tifa helped herself to a spoonful, her hand quivering as she held the ladle. She was sick and worse, had a case of winter blues. The viscous soup, which could only ail so much, could not mend a heart that was breaking. She cradled herself in a shawl and sat curled up on the kitchen floor, drinking out of a small bowl as she battled a hunger that would not satiate. 

Cloud was gone, off on an excursion somewhere far and remote — said it paid better, but that he would be away for a week. His explanation was abrupt that time, as though he had a reason to wall off and escape from her. She had given up on trying to figure him out; it was too painful of a process, too tedious for someone who had, at the moment, fallen ill. 

Maybe this was to be the rest of her life, waiting for a love that never came; or maybe this _was_ love, an empty yet indestructible force. How was she to know otherwise? She had read once upon a time books in which princesses were rescued, but those were childhood whimsies that could not be relied upon. She gulped down her soup, its scalding hot contents burning away the cold within her, force-feeding a semblance of nourishment that no one else was going to give her. 

Standing upright, she strived for resilience. It was not as if all the world was empty, after all. There was one saving grace: a check that arrived monthly, large sums of money covering the rent, with plenty to spare at her own leisure, but nothing else — no letter attached for context, no signature to identify the anonymous benefactor.

She inspected the envelope, its crest lightly dusted with cigar ashes. It had been ages since the night at the hotel, but the checks never failed to arrive like clockwork on the seventh of every month. She was certain now that the debt which Rufus felt was owed to her would linger indefinitely. If not for the tiny embers trailing indistinctly underneath the envelope’s seal, she would think that a secretary had been ordered to send out the checks. But the evidence, furtive as it was, was apparent to her eyes only; it had to be Rufus, and Rufus alone, savoring the last bit of contact he had with her. 

When Tifa was alone, and she often was now, she would unwittingly find herself searching her phone for the traces of him that remained. 

_Hope you are watering those calla lilies._

The vase on the counter had emptied, its contents long wilted; she kept them dried and pressed inside of a leather bound diary. The flowers, superimposed on an otherwise empty page, appeared lonesome and desolate. How fleeting it all was, the beauty of the lilies, the night Rufus had touched her, listening intently to all of her troubles. It was an ephemeral moment in time, one which she took for granted, and now looped in her mind like a broken record. She wished she could replace every memory she had laying coldly, stiffly in bed next to Cloud, with the one night she spent alongside Rufus, learning his scars, easing herself into what may have been had she not resigned to her own cowardice, choosing familiarity over the unknown. 

‘Tifa,’ she recalled him asking in that sad, swollen voice of his, ‘do you believe that we are more than our scars?’

She had not answered him that time; it was her final opportunity to shut him away and return to the life that she knew. She needed her safety and her security back then, but they now imprisoned her in a cell of her own making.

She picked up her phone, the device which held her only connection to him, and began to write: 

_We are more than our past._

The desire to send it was great, but the nerve to do so was beyond her courage.

  
****

Months would go by. Spring would arrive, lilies sprouting once more. The cycle of the seasons continued. 

Cloud was there sometimes, sometimes not. When he was, he would treat her belongings with care, ironing her clothes, folding them neatly into her drawers. Although his kisses did not cease, Tifa could sense as if her very presence pained him in a way that was not openly conveyed. He withdrew into longer and longer excursions. A week of absence became a month, a month had drawn out into eternity. Phone calls were scarce, hardly short of “Yeah, I’m alive”, and “No, the job isn’t over yet, I’ll be back soon.”

She ticked the days off her calendar; it had been twenty eight days since Cloud left for his last job. Twenty eight days she spent, tending the bar alone, retreating to an empty bed every night. 

The memory of Rufus furnished her heart like a still life painting, locked away and brought forth only as she needed it. Lately, that need was great, and the painting morphed into myriad of moving images, an old film blurring dreamily at twenty-four frames per second, vivid in its desire to live again. ‘Tifa, do you believe that we are more than our scars?’

 _We are more than our past._ She wrote again with the timid pads of her thumbs. She shut her eyelids as if to guard against the sight of her own feelings, and then, without further ado, hit the send button.

There was no response; the silence was interminable. She could hear merely her own breath and the crickets in the yard chirping after a delicate rainfall. Stars had emerged in the midnight sky, but the sight of them no longer touched her as they once did. It pained her to look at them, the constant reminder of a childhood love gone cold. She pulled the linen sheet over her head.   
As the clock chimed softly in the background, Tifa began to doze off. She was half dwelled in slumber when the phone lit up and startled her. In the reflection of her pupils, she gleaned a hint of his presence once more.

 _That’s good to know._ The message read. _I was beginning to worry._

She pictured Rufus saying this facetiously, in the voice that so distinctively belonged to himself, with the smirk that teased her in a way no other did, and for the first time in months, a smile — truly genuine — formed on her face. 

  
****

It began with his response; the affirmation that it was okay to speak with him, that her aversion to him at the hotel room had not irreparably silenced things between them. 

It began casually, frivolously, with photos exchanged of midnight skies, with talk of calla lilies.

 _There’s no need to preserve them._ He wrote. _I will send another._

But preserve them she did, even when he sent her new ones time and time again. The diary brimmed with floral relics, their meanings lost on her. She could only press them out of an urgency to defy the transience of their beauty. Loss had become all she’d ever known, with the burning of Nibelheim, the collapse of childhood memories at the water tower. Cloud Strife, who once gazed longingly at her from afar, was now too broken to even look her in the eye. Angry as she was, she could not fault him; they were the same. She had not his fondness for drink, but her own secret compulsions. It wasn’t the flowers that she sought to preserve — no, she simply wanted to eternalize the feeling of being cared for — a feeling, once brief in passing, now forced into compliance.

She felt that Rufus, who lived tenuously in her life as some sort of strange, unprecedented savior, could be willed into existence, had she possessed the courage to call on him. The phone stared her in the face again, beckoning her to make use of it. _How are you doing? Are you all right? When can I see you again?_ Those were the questions she could only rehearse.

****

It was during a slow business day, barred by the heaviest of thunderstorms, when Reno came stumbling into the bar drenched from the pouring rain. His hands were faintly stained of blood, rinsed away by the formidable rain, and yet he still reeked of murder, which Tifa supposed was the norm for his profession. 

“I’ll have whatever’s on tap.” He said, seating himself in front of her. He made no mention of the night at the hotel, the scene he had walked in on, two lovers a hair away from discovery. He seemed infinitely more interested in his booze. 

Tifa filled his glass dutifully, and said nothing. In the opening of his suit, she stole a glance at his perfectly chiseled chest, moist with droplets dotted along his breastbone, and supposed to herself that a body like that could only belong to a hardened assassin. 

“Yo.” He said, putting an end to her careful analysis. “My eyes are up here.” 

Tifa blushed, recoiling from her own actions. What had gotten into her? She was never one to leer at her customers. She rushed to the sink at once to cleanse herself of a vague, filthy feeling, scrubbing her arms vigorously with a jagged sponge.   
Was she briefly attracted to Reno? No, well maybe yes, but it wasn’t him that she was attracted to, per say. She had long been deprived of intimacy and the mere sight of flesh and blood sparked a visceral reaction in her. Unable to cope with the onset of this new vulnerability, she opened a can of beer and drank it in one breath.

“Drinking on the job, are we?” He smirked.

“Even a bartender has to unwind sometimes.” 

“I guess my coming in makes you uncomfortable. Don’t worry. I’m just taking shelter from the rain until my ride gets here.” 

“Right, though I’m not uncomfortable.” She said in an uncomfortable voice. “I’m just...well...”

“What?”

“I... oh, nothing.” Biting down on her lip, she withheld her words nervously. 

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Listen, if you’ve got something to say, say it.” Patience was not a virtue of his. 

She could not come out and say it. _Oh, I’m just remembering the night you walked in on Rufus and I. He was going to try and give me an orgasm. What do you make of that, Reno?_ “If you think that there was ever something going on between Rufus and I, you’ve got the wrong idea.”

“I don’t think anything.” He said, downing his beer. “My paycheck comes from making sure he doesn’t die. I don’t give a shit about much else.”

“R-right...” Embarrassed, she went to refill his glass. Silence had permeated the bar; it was just Reno tonight, and his presence loomed. He was all rain and skin and blood, he had seen with those jaded eyes the aftermath of an affair that could not be consummated, and was likely to deduce that she was, in some silent way, pining for Rufus. 

She couldn’t stand it. His silence unnerved her, and she struggled to replace it. “Seriously though, I would never go for someone like him.” She rambled defensively, with the believability of a flustered child. “I mean for god’s sake…he’s Rufus Shinra.”

Reno nodded incuriously, letting out a small yawn, and stared disengagingly into his phone. The sound of a rotor whirled outside. “Well, that’s my ride.” He said, signing the check at the bar. She watched him walk towards the exit, his presence becoming less and less accessible. If she allowed him to leave, then the opportunity to find out more about Rufus would slip away from her. There was but a split second for her to act. “Wait!” She called out to the Turk, almost immediately regretting so. She tucked away her pride, rushing out the front door, locking it behind her. Once outside, the rain fell on her indiscriminately, soaking her hair and clothes.   
“How... how is he doing? Is he okay? How are—“ she spoke frantically, “how are his symptoms?” 

Reno dawdled with his electric rod over his shoulder, and upon seeing her tense, worried eyes, sighed impatiently. “Look, I’m no fucking matchmaker.” His voice was warbling in the storm, which he seemed eager to get out of. “If you want to know how the President’s doing, then come find out for yourself.” He extended his hand out to her, and swerving in the dark sky behind him was a helicopter branded with Shinra’s logo. Rude sat in the pilot’s seat, his expression doubly obscured by black sunglasses and the blur of the falling rain. 

Tifa was at a crossroads now. A flash of lightning, merged with helicopter lights, shone in her face. She could, in this moment, choose either to stay in this estranged life of hers, or leave her fate in the hands of two former enemies who’s motives could not be foretold. 

The decision wavered like a scale in her mind. So long as the bills were paid, Cloud would not know that she ever left. She could leave for days on end, weeks even, and he would be none the wiser. 

Looking back at the bar that stood behind her, forlorn and uninviting, with only a bolt of lightning for a backdrop, she proceeded to grip Reno’s hand, lifting herself through the helicopter door where the three of them headed to a destination unknown. 


	8. Freedom

There was a wall between them, a material barely perceptible — like the diaphanous wings of a butterfly. He was in the world of reality, and she in the borderland of a dream. The blond of his hair blurred in front of her.

“What did you do with her, exactly?” She heard him say.

“A sleep potion, Boss. Thought you might appreciate it.” Said another voice, lax and shameless. It was Reno’s.

“What do you take me for?”

“Oh, I couldn’t help myself.” He sneered. “She came so willingly, like a lost kitten.”

“There will be repercussions.”

“Nothing to be concerned about, Boss.” A deeper voice — Rude’s — interjected in defense of his partner. “Not a finger was laid on her. The flight was long. Thought it’d be easier if nobody had to speak.”

Footfalls came forth, the surface of the ground indistinct.

“This is ideal, Mr. President.” Said a fourth voice which she deduced as Tseng’s. “We’ve rendered her defenseless, taken away her equipment. We’d hardly be doing our job if we allowed otherwise.”

She listened to the men talk about her as though she was not present — they did not trust her — not around their President. Whatever happened from this point forth, Tifa expected eyes and ears following her every move. She wondered if she should not have come.

“What, pray tell, made you think it was a good idea to bring her _here_ , of all places?” She could detect the unease in him. Rufus was losing his patience.

“We were caught up in a massive fucking storm back in Edge.” Reno sounded flustered. “ She wouldn’t shut up, kept asking about you, and I was like, for god’s sake...”

Their voices became inaudible, washed out. A breeze landed on her face; she tasted the salt in it, heard soft waves echoing in her ear. There was water nearby, rustling, rolling gently. There was grit under her arms and on her body, and in her hair; jagged bits of sand, clawing at her.

“Leave us.” Rufus commanded, and the three black silhouettes drifted away in the opposite direction. It was just blond and blue in her indistinct line of sight now. His shadow encroached, looming larger; his breath was now close. She felt the tip of his finger run down the cupid bow of her lips. “How silly of you to come all the way here for someone like me.” He said, touching her as she feigned sleep, the morbid side of her wondering how far he would go, but the line was drawn there; he had backed away from her, and then, facing what she presumed to be an ocean, lost himself in a daze.

She opened her eyes fully, her vision coming into clarity, strands of blond forming in the wind. “Where am I?”

He turned to look at her. “The shores of Under Junon.”

A beach. Not lively in the vein of Costa Del Sol, but quiet, still. “T-they... they drugged me. They’ll pay for this...” She clenched her fist — gloveless, vulnerable — but still very much capable of destruction.

“My Turks are not a savory bunch. You should take care before you ride halfway across the continent with them.” He spoke frankly without warmth or concern, as though she, Tifa Lockhart of former Avalanche notoriety, should have known better.

“I was... not in my right mind.” Her voice grew quiet. “But, lately I never am, so...”

Rufus remained silent. He seemed preoccupied with something she was not privy to.

“What’s that in your hand?” She asked, staring over his shoulder.

“Nothing.” He crumpled a piece of paper. “Merely trash.” He looked at her, the dissatisfaction in her eyes, and sighed. “I was writing my will earlier, you see, when I realized I had no legacy to speak of.”

The waves came together to form white crests, then separated. Tifa could hear the music of dolphins singing carelessly in the distance. “Neither do I, really. Cloud’s left me.”

“He’ll come back. No one wants to be alone this world that I’ve ruined.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” She said. “Not on your own, anyway. There’s blood on all of our hands.”

“Doesn’t matter now. This body of mine won’t stand to see the next few years.”

Tifa looked down at the patch of Geostigma peeking through his collar. “Are you afraid…? Of dying?” It was a silly question, of course, because who wouldn’t be? But Rufus seemed impenetrable.

“I wasn’t at first. I looked forward to it, actually. It felt like an easy way out. But then I survived. I spent my days at Healen, alone, in the company of linen sheets and daily injections. Demons came forth in my head. Intangible feelings of guilt. Shame. Remorse. I thought of my childhood, my father’s beatings, how they looped in my mind. His ghost would hover at the foot of my bed. I fought for my life. I was not ready to die and face him in hell. My time at Healen Lodge... was unwittingly a purgatory of sorts.” He paused, tearing the document. “So, to answer your question — yes Tifa, I’m very much afraid of dying.”

She plopped herself on the sand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone in your fear.” The light of the sunset flared in her eyes. She began to yearn for the past; her mother, her father, her previous self — small and lively in the beribboned blue dress. “I was an idealistic child. My father was the Mayor of Nibelheim. He doted on me like a princess, so I came to expect as much. I thought I’d be his little girl forever, and if I was ever in a bind, a prince would come to my rescue. I wanted all the princess-like things, to be loved, to be romanced, but instead I was stranded in Midgar at 15 with no more than a few gil in my pocket, my father killed by Sephiroth and my village burned to the ground. The world could end tomorrow, you know, and all I would ever have known is loss. I was never fit to be a princess,” she continued, “and I am not fit for love.”

His expression became facetious. He bounced a rock in his hand, fidgeting with it. Then he turned away and she could not see his face, only the back of his head. “I love you, Tifa.” He said, without warning, eye contact, or any of the usual mannerisms presented with those words. What he uttered was forced and unnatural — a mockery of the real thing — but maybe that is how all things begin in life, as fakes and replicas and prototypes, yearning for the day they would be validated as real.

She choked at intonation of how it was said. The world was barren now, they had lost so much, but there was something about the sight before them that remained true to its origins — the infinite rustling, rolling of water, water that continued for aeons to merge into waves even in the midst of so many endings.

“And I...” her lips quivered, eyes glued to the sand, “love you.” Disgust at her own words. Repulsion, but an inexplicable urge to say them, to defy her own expectations, the narrative that had roped her into her sadness. He placed a gloved palm on her head and leaned her on his shoulder. It wasn’t right to take comfort in him. It was wrong; he was Rufus Shinra. But what did it matter? The world was ending, they were dying, there was no need for logic, for theory, for pride. For now she could watch the sunset and not be alone. The absence of tears in her mouth relieved her, the taste of salt welcome. She closed her eyes and thought to dream, but there was no need for that. The reality before her was already without rhyme or reason.

“Well?” He said. “How does it make you feel, now that you’ve finally been romanced?”

“...empty.” She whispered, her face in her palm.

He laughed. “There’s no hope for people like us, is there?”

Indeed, their words were empty. They had no meaning, no power, and now that she had spoken them, they lost their wonder. Something new, however, brimmed beneath the surface of their mutual confession. It was the essence of trust, the feeling that she could bare her secrets to Rufus Shinra and he would take them to his grave. He was her enemy in public now, and her confidant in private.

_We all have a public image... and then a private one, wouldn’t you agree?_

She burrowed her head under his arm. From afar they must truly resemble lovers. In another lifetime, they would have been lovers, truly and openly, without the barriers that kept them cold and reticent. But now they were being observed by an entourage of armed assassins, no doubt assessing and scrutinizing the nature of their encounter. “The Turks are watching us, aren’t they?”

He nodded.

Tifa looked down. “Are you always being monitored like this?”

“I’m not the most popular person. There are many out there that would put a bullet in my skull at the first sight of me.” He pet her hair. “But the gruesome details of my life need not concern you. This view is sufficient, isn’t it?”

The view was beautiful; an orange, unassuming sunset over a sparkling blue ocean. Tifa removed her boots and walked barefoot in the sand. The earth welcomed her into its embrace. She dipped her toes into the mesh of sea foam that collected at the surface of the water. Her hair blew aside in the breeze. She had no worries. No Shinra, Sephiroth, Cloud. Just the big open space before her. She inhaled deeply, turning around to catch a glimpse of him.

He was sitting, making shapes in the sand with the tip of his finger. Rufus Shinra, despite all ruthlessness, resembled a child in that moment. They were no different. They were both children, robbed of childhood, forced to grow up too soon. And now as the world ends, they continue to search for the inner child that was lost to them so long ago. “Rufus,” she said, and he looked up, bewildered. “Let’s go for a dip.”

“And why would I do something like that? The temperature is hardly bearable at this time of evening.”

Tifa shrugged. “Come on.” In her voice there was a persuasiveness, one that she had not heard in a long time — it was the tone she took with Cloud back at the water tower. It was childish and needy and unrelenting; it had no shame, only intention. “Come on.” She came forward and tugged at his sleeve; it seemed silly, the most powerful man on the planet being prodded for a swim.

He relented, shedding a layer of garments and came forth into the water with her.

“See?” She said. “It’s not so bad.”

He sighed, growing impatient. “What are exactly are we doing?”

She watched as his eyes gazed downward at the ocean; there was a sadness in them. Maybe he, too, had come to feel emptiness. “Don’t you like the ocean?”

“Observing it, yes. Participating in it, not so much.”

“Participating is the only way to live. Come closer,” she pulled him further in. The waves hit them at waist level, consuming their lower halves. She steadied herself against him clumsily, the water pulling them in all directions. Now they must really be lovers in a choreographed dance together. She imagined the Turks off in the distance with their sniper rifles, aimed at her, should she falter in any way. One misstep, and her body would wash afloat in a pool of blood.

She took her chances, kissing him. The black suits would have to deal with this new reality. They would not choose for her. Pale strands of blond fell upon her face. Rufus was receptive. He pulled at her hair viciously, a monster emerging as though overcome by starvation. His tongue swarmed inside of her, twisting and curling and misshapen. The waves, increasingly violent, crashed against her back, drenching them both, darkening the silver blond of his hair.

“My offer stands.” He spoke eagerly, taking a moment to catch his breath. She knew at once what he was referring to; bodily pleasure, orgasm. She nodded shyly, hating herself. How quickly she was to betray Cloud, and Avalanche, Marlene and Denzel; she was not fit to call them family anymore. She was something else now, a shadow of tongue and lust.

Out of the water he lifted her into his arms, her top a translucent white against his dark shirt, long black hair withered like seaweed and sopping wet. They reached the shore, he placed her on her feet. He clasped her wrist so eagerly, so tightly it left a bracelet of red marks as they waddled through the sand, approaching the cottage.

Tseng was inside, sweeping the floor like a shadow in the house, his eyes penetrating the couple. “Don’t mind me.” He whispered gravely. “Please make yourselves at home.” The sharp bristles of the broom swiped against the wood like nails on a chalkboard. He moved stiffly, robotically, from room to room, eyes empty, observing.

Rufus undressed casually; there was no need to hide from her now, she had seen the scars in which he was made from. He seemed unbothered in revealing himself this time around; the initial disclosure was most difficult. Now he could take her hand and lead her into the bath, where she would place her clothing aside in a pile to be laundered. The dirt and bits of sea glass in her hair had to be washed away. She rinsed off under a shower head, then proceeded to the bath. It was simmering now, bubbles rising to its surface. She sat in it, Rufus on its other end, the water boiling the cold out of them. There was an assortment of champagne glasses on a tray. Rufus had begun without her.

“More drinking?” She asked, reacting unwell to what alcohol had become to her; a home wrecker to her relationship with Cloud.

He nodded. She sighed.

“Tell me Tifa, what’s left of this world, if not indulgence, decadence, decay...” He poured the champagne. “Admit it, even you have a morose curiosity about those things.”

“Please. I’m not like you.” She somehow had the nerve to say, even as she bathed in a tub with another man behind Cloud’s back. It was her final attempt to defy her shadow side, a darkness threatening to take over.

Rufus laughed. “Come on. I’ve seen the look in your eyes; sallow and empty. You want to feel something, don’t you? Morality isn’t even a factor anymore.” It was that voice she had come to know so well, devilish and tempting, as though evil was his default and he had no other way of modulating himself.

“And what about you, Rufus? Was morality _ever_ a factor in any of your decisions?”

“Oh, I don’t care to define things as good or bad; I simply do what feels right, and this does.” He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward, caressing her hair. “I can’t be the person that lives into old age with you, but I can allow you an experience before I die: Unspeakable pleasure.”

He could rot her to her core. Maybe he already had. She knew now that this was his plan from the beginning, to crumble her veneer, to challenge the adamant modes of behavior in her that kept her imprisoned. Rufus Shinra was first and foremost, a conqueror. _I just want to set you free_ , she recalled him saying that night at the park.

His hands were moving now, they swam against her thighs. From the corner of her eye, she could see a face in the crevice of the door opening, it was Tseng’s face — watching, waiting, assessing. The stranger stood like a lay figurine, his expression wooden.

It was unreal; Rufus Shinra, touching her, the voyeur at the door watching them, possibly armed with several weapons; an aura of sex and death filling the room. She wanted an erotic experience, but there was too much thought intruding. “Pass me the champagne.” She begged. He did so. She drank and drank. She tried not to give into rationale. It was she who had come here on impulse and now she would have to allow a higher power to unveil the events to come.

The drain unplugged; the water level sank until the tub was empty with just their nude bodies inside of it.

“Tifa,” he said with her chin in his palm, “I want you to know how much I’ve really taken to you. You’ve become one of my most prized possessions.” She could not detect if there was sarcasm in his voice. The monthly checks came to mind. Maybe he felt entitled to her, but that did not matter. She would take him for all he was worth if it meant that she did not have to be alone anymore. She humored him and smiled. “In that case, will you dry my hair?”

He seemed confused, as if that kind of labor was beneath him.

“Cloud always does.” She explained. “And he gives me a long massage afterwards.” She spotted a tinge of jealousy in Rufus’ expression. It was oddly satisfying, she wished to capture it on camera.

Tifa couldn’t deny it. She wanted it all — the monthly checks, the calla lilies, the man who would iron and fold her clothes. She wanted everything. Only everything could fill a void so great inside of her. Her heart was unlocking finally, pools of darkness pumping through its valves. She reached her hand out for him to kiss it. He did so, resembling a servant at first, but quickly reverted to his usual self, regal and imposing. “I’m not Cloud Strife.” He said. “I don’t compensate for the things I can’t give with menial displays of care.” His words were cutting. The side of her that loved Cloud became defensive.

“Because, you see Tifa, I can give you whatever it is that you want. There’s no need for pretense.”

That’s what her relationship with Cloud was to him: a pretense.

He did not wait for a response. He simply took her neck and kissed it. She resigned herself to him, her ego battered from the mention of Cloud. His hands continued to travel; they landed on her breasts. He was kissing her collarbone now, traveling down her torso, his breath increasing in pace. In the midst of lust he truly resembled a monster, covered in undefinable lesions and scars, but his face was beautiful, it leaned downwards between her legs and took residence there. She quivered at the shock of his tongue entering her. The sensation which once lived exclusively in her mouth had now find its way into a far more sacred place. She could not contain the tremors in her legs, the beads of nervous sweat forming down her neck. She was being penetrated by Rufus on one end, and Tseng’s eyes on another. The alcohol had chosen a bad time to be ineffective. She found herself lost in a myriad of thought and sensation, anxiety and pleasure both competing for her attention, and now there was an inkling of an alcoholic buzz encroaching but it failed to overtake her. The door creaked. Rufus withdrew, vanishing from the sight before her.

Collecting her heartbeat, she laid still and alone in the empty tub. Rufus had left. She felt a pair of cold, leather hands on her shoulders.

It was Tseng. “The President told me you needed some assistance.” He said, helping her into a bathrobe. She sensed murderous streak in him. It differed from Reno’s in that it was calculated with precision rather than impulse. He presented her with towels. She dried her hair. Out of bath area she went, flitting from room to room, looking for a place to collect her thoughts.

Tifa settled in what appeared to be a small guest room. She curled up in a corner, her hands in her face. She did not, could not _come_ — not with the Turk watching them as he did. Tears dripped down her face, confusion. Her disappointment was short lived, interrupted by a loud crash — the sound of a vase breaking in next the room over. A scuffle. She leaned into the wall to eavesdrop:

“I am not a goddamned child, Tseng.”

“Did you think a love affair with a former Avalanche terrorist was something any of us would turn a blind eye to? Especially with regards to the large sum of funds gone missing in a short period of time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I hardly need anyone’s approval.”

“Please, Mr. President. I understand that Geostigma has been rough on you. I’ve made some arrangements for you to be sent back to Healen, where your mental health is to be evaluated.”

“I am _not_ going back there.”

“It’s for your own safety. You’ve been making all kinds of rash decisions lately.”

“Get out.” There was the sound of a gun cocking.

Tifa rushed over, tripping over her bathrobe in a hurry to pry the door open. It was locked. She could hear their muffled voices on the other end. “Let me in!” She pounded, to no avail. There was no other choice but to break in by force, an easy feat for her. She took a few steps back and lunged forward, her fist entering the room where it made its way to the lock.

Rufus had his shotgun aimed at Tseng.

“Please Rufus,” she yelled, “Put the gun down.” She turned to Tseng. “This is my fault. I came of my own accord.” Tseng did not look at her.

Rufus lost his nerve and was now in a state of frenzy. “They’re going to take me back to Healen and lock me up again, aren’t they?”

“Again...?” Tifa wondered what he meant by that.

“Well it’s not happening.” The whites of his eyes expanded. “As you can see, I’m doing just fine.”

“Aiming your gun in my face is hardly something I’d characterize as _just fine_.”

“You’re one to talk. It wasn’t even beneath you to spy on us in the tub.”

“I do the jobs I’m tasked with. That includes watching you.”

Tifa took advantage of the moment in which the two men argued. She tackled Rufus, tossing the shotgun into the air. He fell to the ground and shook violently in fetal position. She understood now, seeing him in writhe such a sad state, that he had been supporting her — had listened to all of her problems, all while hiding his own dark secrets. She leaned down and cradled him in her arms, stilling his tremors to the best of her ability.

“I’ll give you some time to recuperate.” Tseng said, exiting the room with an air of nonchalance that suggested this was not the first time he had been exposed this side of the President.

They were afforded a moment of privacy. Rufus laughed uncontrollably under his breath; it frightened her. “There’s something I need to tell you, Tifa, so that you don’t get disappointed. Rufus Shinra isn’t real. He’s merely a performance. The power and freedom you think he has? It’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“Rufus,” she said with alarm in her eyes, “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s so much I don’t know about you. But listen,” she gripped him tightly, “you are very much real.”

He smiled at her, with that beautiful, deceptive smile of his. “Well, if that’s how you feel... then what more could I ever ask for?”

She brought a blanket over and wrapped him in it. He took her hand and she sat him on the bed.

“They want to put me back in confinement.” He said.

“Confinement?”

“Sometime during my stay at Healen Lodge, I lost my mind. My organs were failing, the virus had spread throughout my brain. I began to hallucinate. It was then that I was deemed incapacitated, and the Turks became my legal caretakers. To this day they have full control over any medical decisions regarding my condition, as well as access to most of my funds.  
“The hallucinations were always violent in nature. I had nightmares of being attacked, of fighting tooth and nail for my life. There’s a row of scars going down Tseng’s right arm from a time he tried to subdue me. Elena has injuries around her neck. She nearly died once of strangulation — not my finest moment.” He looked down at the rug. “My symptoms became less frequent once I took the healing rain, but damage remains present. Our activities resumed as normal after that. The Turks, however, still don’t trust that I’m in my right mind.”

Tifa diverted her gaze from him, fidgeting with the tie on her robe. “Well... are you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think none of us are. We’re all just trying our best, given the circumstances we have to work with.” She placed her hand on his. “I know you’re not a bad person. That’s really all the explanation I need.”

Rufus seemed surprised. He must not have expected her to accept him so completely, but she did. He was her saving grace during a time her life had been bleak; she would never forget that. Now it was her turn to listen to him and alleviate his fears. She inclined his head on the pillow and joined him in rest. His eyes grew gentle; she could see the frightened child inside of him that was in want of love and care, it mirrored the child within her. “I’m sorry.” She said, touching his face. “You’re in all this trouble because I decided to come here on a whim.”

“I’m still shocked that you came. I thought you disliked me immensely.”

“...I don’t dislike you.” She could not bring herself to say more than that — to let him know the flowers she pressed for him, the nights she laid awake staring at his messages. “I’m in disbelief, though. I had no idea you’d lost your freedom to this extent.”

“Lost my freedom?” He laughed. “I never had it. You have no idea what it’s like. I’ve been imprisoned since the moment I was born, but you… Tifa. You choose to live in captivity.”

“Excuse me?”

“I see you, and I become jealous. You have the world in your palm. You’re free to love as you please, to hate as you please. I thought, in this delusional fantasy of mine, that I could have a piece of you for myself. Maybe then I’d be free.”

Freedom. He saw it in her. He tried to live it through her. She was a vessel for him to explore the depths of himself he could never reach, the depths that were forbidden to him. Rufus Shinra, dark, troubled, and alluring as he was, was not her enemy.

“Listen.” She said to him furtively, obscuring the side of her mouth with one hand. “We should sneak away when the Turks are asleep.”

“Should we?” He smiled. “Wutai, Costa del Sol, the ends of the earth. Where does the princess want to go next?”

He was an experience to be savored.


	9. Moonlight

_Where does the princess want to go next?_

Rufus’ smile — so wide —with so many teeth exposed, was that of a madman’s.The monster within had begun to seep through his finely polished veneer, overtaking his previous self. He shook violently in Tifa’s arms, releasing tears and spittle into the linen. _“_ Or should we amuse ourselves at the Gold Saucer? Tell me, my love, where in the world should I take you?”

Tifa had known many madmen throughout her life, had served as their anchor, even.Whether it was the shattered mind of a childhood friend, or the extreme ideals of a terrorist — Tifa was there, always, to hold a hand, to lend a shoulder.

Now was no different.She would embrace Rufus’ wildest dreams as her own and set him free.She pressed her face into his palm and returned his smile. “I don’t care where we go, Rufus.I’m ready to leave when you are.”

To her dismay, the clock on the wall had ceased functioning.“It’s three in the morning, maybe four — I can’t tell.Do you think the Turks have gone to bed?”

“Listen carefully,”he responded, “and you’ll have your answer.”

There was a rustling nearby, restless and agitated, and an occasional thump against the door.Someone was guarding the room.The thump, rhythmic in nature, was soon accompanied by loud, insistent snoring.

“That’s Elena.”Rufus stated with confidence, and Tifa was impressed by his immediate deduction.“And it’s our cue.”His demeanor seemed to change then;his shivers ceased, his expression calcified.He composed himself in the manner of a statue.Ascending from the bed, he opened the wardrobe and a vestige of ashes, cologne escaped from within.A button down was retrieved and placed neatly on the bed beside her.

“You won’t get very far in a bathrobe.”He said as he changed into a suit.“Put that on.”

She slipped into his shirt, roomy on her figure, hitting her at the thigh.His scent, woven into the fabric, induced remnants of their time together at the lodge.She took his hand, allowed him to lead.They approached the door with caution, tiptoes and slow strides, silently turning the knob.

Elena was on the carpet, snoring, a trickle of drool had run down her chin.“Mm, stop that, Tseng.It _tickles._ ”

“Good.”Rufus whispered.“She’s gone.Lucky we should have her doing the rounds tonight.If it were Tseng...”

If it were Tseng, he would not have missed a beat. They had to be on guard; he could still be lurking in a corner somewhere.The main entrance was too risky of a route to take.They would exit via the back door instead, let the darkness mask their whereabouts. 

Out on the beach, they strode along the sand, where she could see nothing but glimmers of moonlight illuminating Rufus’ hair, transmuting patches of blond into specters of white. 

“If my intuition serves me right,” Rufus explained, “Tseng might be out in the lighthouse tonight.The entirety of the beach can be seen from up there.We need to avoid the searchlights.Come.”They lurked about in the shadows, out of sight, dodging the light which swerved the area in an oscillating manner.“We should make our way to the dock and wait, until sunrise, for a boat.We must be discreet until then.There is no means of transportation out of the city at this late hour.”

Tifa nodded. The beach house looked tiny from where they were standing, a mere smudge in the distance.They had come a long way now, fully immersed in shadow, and could afford a moment to catch their breaths. 

“We should be safe for now.There’s still some time to kill.”He produced a cigar from his coat pocket, a flame was lit, smoke curled in the darkness.He caressed her shoulder through the gossamer fumes. “My clothes….”

“What about them?”

“They suit you.”The veil of smoke morphed in all directions, obscuring his expression.

“This is hardly an outfit.I hope to get properly dressed at our next destination.”

He smirked.“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be dressed at all.”With a flick of his wrist, her shirt fell open and hung loose around her shoulders.He approached steadily.

“R-Rufus!”

“To be honest, I’m still bitter about our earlier incident.I was sure I’d be successful in delivering my promise.”He drew a breath against her the nape of her neck, kissing it, then movedtoward her collarbone, down to the inevitable curves of her breasts. He kissed them too, paused for a moment to puff on his cigar, exhaled more fumes into the darkness, resumed kissing.There was an eagerness in his kisses, as if the uncertainty of their circumstances had induced an urgency in him.Lust and danger joined together in a swift revelation:any moment could be their last.

“Should we be doing this right now?”Her face flushed scarlet.“Whatever happened to being discreet?”

No response.He was already in the throes of passion, his hands moving far and wide. Her body capitulated under his spell,she became an object of flesh, relenting every nerve and muscle for him.He bound her against the large, standing concrete, wrapped her legs around his neck, she let out a faint gasp as he continued where they left off in the tub.The corners of his mouth mottled with moisture, his tongue soon disappeared into her;the deeper he went, the tighter she dug into his scalp, tarnishing those immaculate strands of blond with soiled fingernails.

Tifa knew by now that Rufus Shinra had the instincts of a conqueror;he moved strategically inside of her until he found her weak spots — vulnerabilities that neither she nor Cloud ever knew existed — and assailed them mercilessly, his tongue hitting in rapid succession.She threw her hands over her mouth to stifle a moan, wanted to curse him for exposing her like this — out in the open — where she yielded to him so powerlessly as he kissed, sucked, and invaded her.A loss of breath overtook her, a loss of reality;she was enraptured in the cloud of cigar smoke, chaotic and dream-bound.The whites of her eyes swelled, ridges formed on her bottom lip from the clench of her teeth.As her pleasure intensified, his compulsions grew more unforgiving.He ran his tongue up and down the sides of her lips, teasing and stroking her with unyielding, unwavering resolve. 

“Rufus.”She said, her voice girlish and feeble, her head tilted against the concrete.“I can’t…”

Her muscles constricted with him inside of her, beads of sweat dotted her torso , she was close, so close…juices trickled into his mouth, down her thigh,spasms overtook her, her body trembled, she lost control;deeper and deeper into the darkness she searched, and scrambled, and scoureduntil she found the one thing that had eluded her for so many years: Release. _Orgasm_. 

A loss of breath, a loss of reality.

She was panting and so was he.She collapsed in his arms.He carried her toward the docks, his footsteps pattering in the sand.The moonlight fell upon them and the darkness parted, his face transparent.He was looking into her eyes with an unreadable stare, vacant yet fixated, a conqueror’s stare.An addict’s stare.A lover’s stare.And she stared at him too, without looking away, resolved to melt those ice blue eyes with her ardent, red gaze. 

“I always keep my promises.”He said, and he brushed the sand out of her hair and kissed her forehead;she angled his lips towards her own.

It was so brief in occurrence, the object that had grazed her, that she might’ve dreamt it if it were not for the thin slash of blood across her cheek.“W-what…?”

There was no time to process what had just occurred. 

“Looks like we have company.Get down!”

They took cover behind a tall slate of rock.Rufus fired back in the general direction of the bullet, unaware of where the attacker was situated.Tifa fell to her knees in the sand, frantically buttoning her shirt, now mottled with stains.Her eyebrows furrowed with concern.“Rufus!Should you really be so firing so recklessly?What if you hurt someone?”

“Serves them right for interrupting.”He fired more shots into the air. 

A silhouette appeared off in the distance.It approached steadily.

“Stay back!”Rufus warned.“My next shot won’t miss.”

“Please Mr. President!Cease fire!”A voice called out to him, begging and pleading.It was Elena. Her hands were in the air as she drew nearer. “Let’s talk this through!” 

Rufus looked at Tifa.She looked back at him, nodding. He relaxed his stance.

“Elena.” Rufus said.“Do us all a favor, will you?Go back to the house and continue to dream of whatever tickles your fancy.If you are any clever at all, then you should already know that you aren’t fit to take on the both of us by yourself.”

Elena clutched the hem of her shirt tightly, as if fidgeting.“I know that, Mr. President.I know.That’s why...” She looked down at her feet, keeping her eyes shut.“I’m so, _so_ sorry about all this!”

Tseng appeared out of the shadows, and under the beam of the lighthouse, Tifa could see that he was holding a syringe, had snuck up behind Rufus and injected him with a sedative. Her eyes widened with horror. 

“Run .. Tifa.”Rufus staggered before falling to the ground, his legs sprawled and misshapen in the sand. 

“Rufus!”

“Now, it’s your turn.”Tseng said, inching closer.“Don’t resist.”

 _Don’t resist_.A tall order for a woman who’s fists were made for retaliation.She took a swing at him, missing him by an inch as he swerved to the right of her.Out of the lapel of his suit he produced a pistol.“You’re only making this difficult for yourself.”

“Move another inch and I’ll end you!”Elena yelled.

Perhaps it was the sight of Rufus’ body— so weak, vulnerable, and unable to fend for itself — that left an ache in Tifa’s chest.She felt her temperature rising, her teeth clenching, and without warning, pulled Elena into a chokehold. “Not tonight.”She declared, and when the beam of the lighthouse shone on them, she noticed marks on Elena’s neck where Rufus had once hurt her.Deep, red marks, shaped like permanent handprints.

“Elena!”

“We’ll do an exchange.”Tifa demanded.“I won’t hurt Rufus, but I can make no promises for Elena.” In Tseng’s eyes, Tifa gleaned weakness.

“Stupid woman.”Elena spoke through her teeth, struggling.“Do you think the President is in love with you, that you have something special with him?All that gil he showers you with has really gotten to your head, hasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Tifa tightened her grip, “or it’s me that’s going to end you.”

“I mean s-sure ...” Elena continued, her voice breaking up in increments, “y-you’ve seen those scars and lesions on his body, but have you witnessed them crack open right in front of you?Struggle to disinfect them while he wraps his hands around your neck… choking you, biting you…calling you horrible, degrading names? 

He’s just a pretty face to you, isn’t he?And he can be so, _so_ charming to one who doesn’t shoulder the burden of nursing him.You know what, Tifa?I feel … sorry for you …”

It was Elena’s final breath before her body went limp.

Tifa’s eyes wavered guiltily, but she could not turn back now. _I’m sorry, Elena, for what happened to you, but if I don’t set Rufus free, then this won’t end well for any of us._

“Tseng,” Tifa continued, “hand Rufus to me.She’s only unconscious, but I could do much worse.”

“You don’t have the means,” he argued, “or the resources to take care of him.You’d kidnap him and then — then what?What happens when he suffers another episode?He could die.”

Tifa bit down on her lip.“Kidnap him?He wants to leave.He wants—“ she took a deep breath, “he wants to live, to be alive.” 

To _live_ , to be _alive_ , but what did those words mean? Curiosity consumed her.She would take back the life Shinra had robbed from her, take their President and keep him for herself.An eye for an eye. “ _You_ are the ones killing him, keeping him locked away for the rest of his days.Is that what you want?To strip him of all life while he’s still breathing?”Tears cascaded from her eyes, and her fingers tightened around Elena.“No ... I won’t have it.He’s coming with me.We are going to experience this world — the way we want to — before it ends.”Before it ends, she thought to herself,before it burns into nothing, the way stars do. 

“We are his caretakers.”Tseng replied, his voice now relenting. 

“He’s not a child!”She pounded her fist into the sand.“He can make his own life.Now, do you want her or not!?”

It was to her surprise that the Turk marched forth, calmly and without further resistance, and placed Rufus beside her, retrieving Elena in exchange.

She paused for a moment, had an inkling this was a trap, that he would strike her when her guard was down.But instead, he moved away from her and stood from a respectful distance, thinking.From his pocket, he produced remnants, scraps of paper glued together to form what Tifa recognized as Rufus’ will.With the flame of a lighter, he burned it all to ashes until there was nothing left, just tiny embers floating in mid air, carried by the wind into the ocean. 

This was a show of surrender.What triggered it, Tifa could not say.Maybe there was something within him that knew captivity was not the answer, merely the habit which Shinra engrained in him … and he had known no other life than that of a Turk.But now there was a new layer of reality he had not considered before.There was empathy in his eyes, and bewilderment, like that of an estranged parent who wanted the best for their child but was struck by the painful realization that they had only made things worse at every turn. 

“There will be a boat arriving,” he said finally, “at sunrise, to Wutai.I recommend you hop on with him.Tell them I sent you.They will know what to do with Rufus, should he ever need treatment while in your care.Now, you should hurry before the others wake up.The Turks will be on your trail shortly, and I’ll tell them you’ve kidnapped Rufus.I am not obliged to give them any other narrative.Understood?”

She nodded in a rare moment of rapport with the Turk.Rufus laid in her arms in a state of comatose.“Thank you, Tseng.I’ll guard him with my life.You have my word.” 

“The rest of the burden is for you to shoulder.Take care.” He carried Elena away, and Tifa watched Elena’s hair billow in the wind, strands of blonde contrasted against Tseng's long, dark locks. He held her with such care.

There was a strangeness about the sight before her, like looking into a mirror.


End file.
